Yesterday, when returning from church by bike,
Annabel and I came along a
Chestnut tree just in front
of the Chinees restaurant where we often get some
take-away meals. (Spare me the details.)
I noted some fresh chestnuts on the ground. Reason
enough to stop, and have a small chestnut collection.
Finally, we picked about 30 of them. Some small, some
big.

At home, I spend some time sorting out, and trying to
find the most perfect chestnut. I picked the one that
had the most symetric form, had a smooth and shining
surface, with the most intersting pattern of lines.
I remember having it put in my pocket.

This morning, when I looked at the chestnut in my
pocket it's surface was neither shining nor smooth.
I picked another chestnut, and brought it with me.
To my surprise it slowly turned yellow starting at those
places where I touched it most.